Vince's Favorite Blond
by Old School Fan
Summary: What happens when the most powerful man in sports entertainment falls for his aging platinum-haired star? Romance and drama ensue faster than you can say figure-four leglock.


Vince McMahon instinctively reached for him in the middle of the night only to find the space beside him empty. "Oh shit! Oh fuck!" He cursed. Suddenly wide awake and seized by panic, Vince switched on the bedside lamp and rose abruptly from the bed. Clad only in red boxers, the sixty-two year old business tycoon frantically checked the spacious rooms of his Florida beachfront condo for his longtime lover. Worry soon gave way to relief when he spotted the familiar figure out on the terrace. Wearing a black silk robe, Ric Flair stood with his back to Vince, staring off into the distance, the silvery moonlight illuminating his short platinum hair.

Sliding open the glass door, Vince joined Ric on the terrace. It was a balmy summer night. A slight breeze blew as the ocean lapped gently against the shore. For Vince, a night like this in a place like this would have been paradise if not for the constant fears that plagued his fertile imagination. Ric, sensing the presence behind him, turned to face Vince.

"I couldn't sleep," Ric offered by way of explanation.

"Come back to bed, love?" Vince's tone was achingly tender as he took Ric's hands and attempted to guide him back inside.

"In a minute," He said slowly, confusion in his silver-blue eyes. He studied Vince carefully, trying to gauge his mood. The Vince McMahon he knew never asked for anything nicely. He usually just demanded it. And refusing the great man was never an option as Vince simply took whatever he wanted anyway. "Something wrong, Vinnie?"

"Ric, I..." Vince hesitated. Did he dare speak of the fear that had gripped him the moment he had discovered his lover gone from his bed? Could he tell him that he had expected to find an empty pill bottle in the guest bedroom next to Ric's cold, dead body? Or that he would once again find him laying in a bathtub as limp as a rag doll while his life's blood drained from his slit wrists? Turning Ric's hands over, he brought said wrists to his lips, kissing them reverently. The cuts had fully healed, but the telltale lines remained, the ever-present reminders of the time when Ric had fallen so deeply into despair that he had seen death as the only escape.

It had been Vince who had found him that day. There had been so much blood, more than he had ever seen in his life. The tears and anguish would come later for Vince when he would break down in private, but at the crucial moment of discovering Ric bleeding profusely, his skin pale, his eyes glassy, all he could do was curse Ric Flair, calling him a dumb fuck, a stupid motherfucker and any other thing that popped into his head while taking out his cellphone and dialing 911. Ric, while barely clinging to consciousness managed to utter_ "you're right ... so stupid ... should have used the gun." _

"Jesus Christ, what's gotten into you?" He questioned Vince's uncharacteristic behavior. "I swear I never..." The words died on his lips when he noticed the tears flowing freely from Vince's brown eyes. Vince did not bother to conceal them. "Vinnie?" Ric bit his lip nervously, unsure of what to do. During their entire six year relationship, he had never been in the position of having to comfort Vince. It was usually the other way around. He withdrew a hand from Vince's, reached up to caress his tear-streaked face. Then slowly, he leaned forward and planted soft kisses on Vince's lips. With both hands, he held the back of Vince's gray head and pushed his tongue inside the warm cave of Vince's mouth, passionately kissing the man he had once feared, despised, and eventually grew to love.

Vince, his momentary weakness forgotten, kissed him back, hungrily ravishing his mouth, one hand gripping the platinum head while the other tugged at the belt of Ric's robe. It was Vince who broke the kiss, stepping away from his lover as the silky garment came undone and fell in a pool at his feet, exposing Ric's nakedness to Vince's appreciative eyes.

"You're beautiful, love" Vince insisted. "Just beautiful."

No matter how many times Vince had seen him naked, Ric still managed to flush with embarrassment. He lowered his eyes, painfully aware of his fading looks. At fifty-nine, he no longer possessed the taut body of his youth and the platinum mane that had once been his crowning glory was thinning. He felt so old and unattractive that he wondered not for the first time why Vince, who even at sixty-two was built like a Greek god, still wanted him. Before he could contemplate this further, he felt himself being lifted into Vince's muscular arms as if he was a lightweight and carried back inside to the master bedroom where he was deposited onto the king-sized bed.

Vince hastily removed his boxers, carelessly tossing them onto the floor as his eyes roved lustily over his lover's form. Ric's body was familiar terrain, yet Vince relished every opportunity to explore it as if for the very first time. Scooting back on his elbows, Ric parted his legs in invitation and beckoned to Vince with his eyes.


End file.
